


Stains

by Clair de Lune (clair_de_lune)



Category: Prison Break
Genre: Dubious Consent, F/F, Season/Series 03
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-04
Updated: 2013-09-04
Packaged: 2017-12-25 15:40:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,245
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/954851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clair_de_lune/pseuds/Clair%20de%20Lune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>She’s so bright and naïve and sweet, Gretchen can’t help wanting to stain, tarnish all this, rip it off and use a bit of it for her own benefice. (Season 3)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stains

“You need to drink.”

“Fuck off.”

It’s quietly groused out through Sofia’s clenched teeth; not the usual vocabulary of the young lady. Wrinkling her nose with disapprobation, Gretchen blames it on exhaustion or exasperation. Or maybe it’s Lincoln’s terrible, terrible influence.

“Tsk,” she chastises, “watch your mouth, sweetie. There’s a kid in the room.”

LJ doesn’t give any kind of reaction. Maybe he’s finally asleep, which wouldn’t be a bad thing. She doesn’t bother to check: they’re in a scarcely furnished room, just a bed on each side, one for LJ and one for Sofia, and he’s handcuffed to the headboard. No way he tries any more tricks, especially now that he’s learned his lesson.

“Drink,” Gretchen orders. _Or you’ll get sick and James will whine about it and I really don’t need that on top of everything else_. Wondering how she’s become some fucking nurse-slash-baby-sitter, she brings the glass of juice to Sofia’s lips and tips it a bit so the woman has to swallow the beverage or let it run down her chin. Thank God, she’s smart enough to drink. Makes sense. With this heat, even she, as used to it as she may be, has to be thirsty. She gulps it down slowly, her throat moving as she swallows. The sweaty skin of her chin brushes against Gretchen’s hand and she doesn’t look too thrilled by the contact – she’ll have to deal with it, poor thing.

Her wrists are cuffed to the bed and she’s half sitting with her head bent to the side; Gretchen has to angle the glass down and hold it until she has emptied it. It’s an awkward position and despite her best efforts, a few droplets of juice escape from her lips after she’s done drinking and the glass has been taken away. Without giving it a thought, Gretchen catches them with her thumb, wipes them off, and then licks her finger.

The licking – or the whole move for that matter – is answered with a black, accusatory glare and Sofia’s attempt to move away. Too bad the handcuffs prevent her from doing so.

“Why do you do that? Hit on me?” she whispers, fear showing beneath the anger.

“I do?”

“Harass me?”

“Now is it hitting or harassing?”

She’s pretty, with those big brown eyes and still wet mouth and large expanses of golden, glowing skin exposed by the short skirt and sleeveless shirt. James sure has good taste when it comes to women. She’s also a reminder for Gretchen that it’s been a while since she last had the opportunity to satisfy this kind of inclination. Although it’s nothing compared to her previous female captive, the occasional bitchy attitude of the girl is quite endearing.

Gretchen prudently puts the glass out her reach, then stands in front of her and lays two fingers under her chin to tilt her head up. Sparkling eyes and ragged breath that parts pouty lips and heaves her chest – prettier than pretty. She smells good, too, not nice but good, a combination of perspiration, faint traces of soap and apprehension that has Gretchen breathe in deeply. She presses her thumb into the flesh of Sofia’s lips, smiling when the other woman tightens them, then bends forward to lightly kiss her mouth. She needs to hold the back of her head to stop any retreat, but it’s really a small, worthy sacrifice.

“Do you like that? That I hit on you?” she asks and crouches so that they’re eye to eye.

“Leave her alone.”

The voice coming from the other end of the room signals that – oh fucking God – mini Burrows has woken up. She barely refrains from reminding him what happened when his Dad played rescuer and advising him not to make the same dumb mistake.

“Hush and let the grown-ups talk, LJ,” she shoots above her shoulder then returns her full attention to Sofia. “Do you?” No answer. “Aww, you know what, sweetie? I’m going to untie one of your hands and we’re going to try to find out.”

“What the hell...,” LJ interjects.

That’s the last straw for her very small amount of patience. Exasperated, she starts turning around to move toward him; it takes Sofia shuffling, extending a leg to catch her attention and holding her in place. Smooth skin brushes against hers. “I’m fine, LJ,” Sofia says her eyes trained on Gretchen. “It’s okay. Go back to sleep.”

The sappy suggestion makes Gretchen roll her eyes with mockery – _sure go back to sleep or, you know... be a damn red-blooded teenager and enjoy the show_. Although she’s not sure that he can actually see anything across the dimly lit room.

As soon as her hand is free, Sofia spins on herself to sit with her feet on the floor and her side rather than her back against the headboard. Then she glances up at Gretchen, her face placid and her expression carefully composed, looking like a fucking sacrificial lamb.

“Well...?” Gretchen prompts with impatience.

“What do you want?”

“I’m sure you’re not that dense.”

But she is, obviously, because Gretchen has to come closer to stand between her legs, slip a hand in her hair and make her tip her head back. She doesn’t try to kiss her again, which Sofia seems to be grateful for, but she nuzzles the damp skin right beneath her ear, her neck and then lower, her cleavage, pushing the soft fabric of her shirt as low as possible. There are pounding heart beats under her lips and she lingers here for a while. She closes her eyes and allows herself to actually feel rather than just _do_ – and Sofia feels and tastes as good as she smells, sweet under the salted tang of her skin, smooth and taut, about to burst out in tears from fear and anger at the same time. She snakes her tongue on the soft swell of a breast, licks the silky skin and chuckles at Sofia’s startle.

“Come on.” Catching up at last, the girl tentatively lays her hand on the inside of Gretchen’s knee and slides it up a few inches. “I won’t ask you do anything you don’t want to do, sweetie,” she smirks.

“I find this hard to believe.”

“Why would I lie to you? You think I couldn’t force you to give me anything I want?”

Really. She could threaten her with pretty much anything – is she threatening anyone right now?

“It wouldn’t be a victory for you.”

Gretchen smiles at that, pleasantly surprised, and then her smile turns into a gasp because the hand has started to move again, nails scratching her flesh just the right way. Sofia briefly pauses when she can feel beneath her fingers the light blisters of the old scars on Gretchen’s inner thigh. A mere pointed, warning look lets her know that questions aren’t welcome and has her pursuing her ministrations. Her small, warm hand creeps up, stops and goes down a bit. It happens, once, twice, the move far from innocent, the way the fingers trace the muscle obviously meant to arouse her as fast as possible – it’s determination, not desire, which Gretchen can totally live with. She clutches the headboard, her knees buckling under her.

“Scoot,” she orders, motioning Sofia to sit back against the wall.

The handcuffs rattle the metallic headboard when Sofia wriggles back with resignation; it’s quite a nice sound and a nice sight, Gretchen thinks before kneeling on the thin mattress, straddling one of Sofia’s thighs. She almost wishes she had totally uncuffed her so she would be able to use both her hands or – the idea makes her back arch – her mouth. Not an option, evidently, way too risky. The restraints do make up for it though.

Sofia is stroking, fondling her, not too kindly but not harshly enough to be aggressive or resentful. Just the slightly rough touch of a resolute lover, under the black dress and up, skimming across her stomach, on her breasts, thumbing her nipples. Lower, she bends her leg and pushes her knee into Gretchen, who, in response, swallows a curse and braces herself, her hands flat on the wall on each side of Sofia’s head.

“Get to the point,” she orders, and the hand obediently goes down only to halt on the elastic band of her underwear. The hesitation makes Gretchen sneer. “Nothing’s there you’re not already familiar with, sweetie.”

It’s a nice, nice power trip when Sofia palms and touches her through the damp fabric of her panties, then, with a shuddering breath, slips her hand inside of it. The feeling of control, the notion that the young woman can’t actually know what Gretchen would do if she stopped and backed off, is almost as pleasant and exhilarating as the sensation of fingers gliding and parting her slick flesh, playing with her, eventually entering her. Sofia knows what she’s doing, she definitely knows, and Gretchen considers making a remark about practice. Just as she’s about to speak, she meets Sofia’s eyes and can read in them a hint of amusement, a dash of satisfaction.

“You like that, don’t you?” She hushes her as she’s about to protest and adds, “I don’t mean having your fingers inside me. I mean the power trip. How good is it?”

She’s so bright and naïve and sweet, Gretchen can’t help wanting to stain, tarnish all this, rip it off and use a bit of it for her own benefice. Bask in it for a while, as short as it may be, and ponder if she’s ever been like that. She’s doing her a favor anyway. The girl needs to learn and understand or she won’t survive long; one can’t last on being bright and naïve and sweet.

“You’re good with your hands, you know? But I’m sure James already told you that.”

Sofia crooks her fingers in a way that sends Gretchen whimpering and leaning harder into the wall. When she starts thrusting them slow and hard, her pace steady and strong, her thumb drawing small circles, Gretchen doesn’t care anymore about power trip and control and mental ascendancy. The pleasure building up between her legs and spreading through her body was, after all, her initial goal, so better to enjoy it. She thrusts back and twists around the hand. Her fingers deep into the long, soft hair, she cradles Sofia’s head against her chest and smiles with satisfaction when the girl takes the hint and dutifully mouths her breasts, leaving wet patches of saliva on the dress. She pants and gasps, grouses a couple of _Shit_ s and _Yes_ s, even blurts out a _Please_ that makes Sofia curl her lips and move her fingers harder. Damn little bitch. Can’t hold a grudge though. It’s fair game.

She doesn’t bother to hide her shudders or bite back her moans when she comes. It’s not like the last fifteen minutes haven’t been moving toward this. Distantly, blood rushing to her head, she hears LJ’s bunk squeak and wonders if the kid is moving to get a better view or to turn away. She’d bet her right hand on the second option. As she gathers her thoughts, she’s vaguely aware of Sofia’s harsh breathing on the side of her face and of the way her body twists before it goes rigid. Well. Either the girl did enjoy the power trip or can’t hold back her disgust anymore. It’s a toss up, but it’s not like Gretchen actually cares. Warm moisture stains her bare knee, which is pressed into the other woman’s crotch. With no way to say if it’s perspiration of arousal, she shifts her leg, rocking her thigh between Sofia’s. For the second time tonight, she earns a heartfelt “Fuck off.”

If this is what she gets for trying to be nice...

“No need to be so offensive, sweetie,” she says, her voice still rough with pleasure. “I had a nice orgasm. You had the upper hand and possibly a bit of fun yourself. Everybody wins, don’t you think?” She throws a glance above her shoulder but all she can distinguish on the other bed is a dark shadow curled into a ball. She would sigh if she cared – some boys really don’t know how to have fun. “Although I’m not so sure about poor LJ.” She can feel Sofia’s fingers sliding out of her and being crudely wiped off on her thigh, where they leave a wet, sticky, path. “Sheesh, that was rude!”

She crawls back on her knees until she can stand again, feet firmly planted on the floor. Staring into Sofia’s eyes, she takes her time to straighten her dress, smoothes the black fabric down her thighs and adjusts the straps on her shoulders. She sneers when Sofia merely pushes back her skirt, which has been shoved up during their frisking. On the bed a few feet away behind her, LJ grumbles something along the lines of _crazy bitch_. Yeah. Sure. Whatever.

“Can I get you anything?” she offers unctuously.

Sofia’s gaze doesn’t waive.

“Something to wash my hand.”

She smiles at the feisty retort. “Sure thing, sweetie.” She then leans into the young woman and whispers against her ear, “But it won’t make go away what you did.”

She can feel the shiver that runs through Sofia’s whole body. The girl smells like musk, orange juice and perspiration. And shredded innocence. Gretchen breathes in deeply.

-End-

Comments and kudos are always welcome.


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